This year has not been about resolutions, even though I made a few. So far, it has been a year of great things (Terrible, yes...but great).
There is a country song by Tracy Lawrence that talks about hitting the bumps in the road and what you learn from it. He starts by talking about the bad things that happen, and then he reminds us that we "Find out who your friends are". The bit of lyrics that has humbled me this year is "they just show on up with their big old heart". I have had some bad things knock me down this year. I have also been blessed to be shown who my friends are. They showed on up, with their big old hearts and their open wallets and their soft prayers.
Last year, I kept putting off the writing. I don't know why. Maybe I had some sort of knowledge that this was going to be a blank time for my mind, and that left me with a blank page. It has happened before. When I was young, I knew something was wrong with my world, but for the life of me I could not give you an answer as to what it was. I was just sensing it. Impending doom. Dread. My grades went from straight A's to mainly D's and F's. At the end of January 1989, my grandmother died from kidney failure and complications from her Diabetes. And the morning after she died (peacefully in her sleep), I told my mother that we needed to call and talk to family, because Grandmother was feeling better today. As she was moving toward the phone, it rang and an aunt gave us the news. Empathy is a crippling gift, sometimes. When I can actually, not just figuratively but literally, FEEL what someone else feels it can be scary. Unfortunately, it doesn't come with a business card telling me the name of the hurting person around me.
So since squishing grapes, and a little after that, I have not written anything more than grocery lists.
This time, it was a lot closer, and the odd feelings were not quite so debilitating. Age has refined the senses, or maybe dulled them. My mother passed away on January 20. From kidney failure and heart troubles due to her Diabetes. We had a Memorial Service on February 20.
I just stopped.
I no longer wrote, read, or socialized. It got lonely and boring, and old quite fast. So I posted a few thoughts on my Facebook page. And I discovered that Laura Speaker is right. Writing is cathartic for me. I must do it to heal.
I had changed my music in the Playlist, to honor Mom. I put up the only copy I could find of "Flee as a Bird", one of her favorite hymns. I found Acappella's version of "The Lighthouse", as she loved lighthouses and really lived as if Jesus were her personal lighthouse. Now, I believe she is playing on the beach in the sands of time, with the sister she never got to meet in this life.
I am continuing to read "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Piccoult. This was the January book for my online book club. I must say that moving on has hurt. And has been slow happening. And is the most difficult thing I have ever felt compelled to do. Riding an emotional roller coaster when I never wanted to purchase that ticket.
It has also been good. I have communicated more with my Bro and Dad. Rare for both of them to actually talk at all, unless there was a subject that they love to share about. I found out who my friends are. I have amazing friends.
Terrible didn't stop making plans for me, however.
Dad had made a doctor appointment to check on some things. He made the appointment before Mom passed, but the actual visit was about 1 week after she passed. A week after that, he was officially diagnosed with Kidney Cancer.
My Bro was devastated. More than me, I think ... but it is hard to console others while living so deeply IN the grief for oneself. Not only had Mom been stolen from us on our watch, but Fate was punching Dad in the kidney, too. From what Dad has said, he seemed to know there was something wrong for a while, but he wanted to focus on caring for Mom. Now that she is not needing his careful watch, he can focus on caring for himself.
And nine months after I stopped blogging, I am here to try to start again.
I can never be the same. The pain has given birth to a new understanding, and I am hoping to express that in a coherent manner.
I don't know how well I will do at keeping up the writing. I don't know if I have anything to say anymore, or whom would even want to hear it. But, for the few who have tried to spur me on, I am going to start again. I am going to try. We all may have to wade through a fair amount of tripe, but I think we can look forward to more happy subjects and good words coming from me. OK, I am just hoping I still have good words in here.
Death is but a doorway between this life and the next. I believe that Mom is whole and happy and waiting for me. I can't believe she would be happy knowing that I am content to wallow in the grief.
I am standing in a dark room, wondering who turned off the light. Maybe it is time to find the light switch.
